I do
by minachandler
Summary: Missing scene from 4x16. After their not-wedding, Oliver comes to see Felicity in her dressing room. Smut.


_Whoever designed this dress had better pay for my medical bills if I end up twisting my arm to get the thing off,_ Felicity thinks, letting out an aggrieved sigh when the fastenings she was trying to _un_ fasten refuse to budge. She grits her teeth, giving up for the moment and instead pulling the pins and veil out of her hair, feeling relief that at least that was something she could do.

She looks up, though, when she hears a knock on the door of the dressing room.

"One second," Felicity calls, shaking her head to loosen her hair a little. But when she gets to the door, expecting Thea, perhaps, Felicity freezes.

"Hey," Oliver says softly. "Is it all right if I come in?"

Felicity sighs again, and somehow the sight of him, in his white shirt and suspenders and bow tie still loosened around his neck calms her, made some of the anger in her disappear. "Sure."

"Thank you," he says sincerely, and not for the first time she feels a pang of guilt for walking out on him, for breaking things off with him. It would be easy, so easy, for them to simply go back to the way things were.

But she knows they can't.

"You… okay?" she asks. "I know it's hardly the first time you've been shot, but -"

"I'm fine," Oliver says, shaking his head. His hands are in his pockets and he's not quite able to look her in the eye. "The Kevlar caught the arrow. Not a scratch on me."

"So what's up?" says Felicity. "I mean, why are you here?"

"I just - wanted to… talk. About what you said in there. To Cutter. About what I said. I meant every word, you know."

Felicity sighs. "I know you did. And I wish… I wish that was enough."

"Then tell me," he says insistently, and he steps forward, standing just a couple of feet from her, hand in the air as though considering putting it on her arm. "Tell me what to do to make it enough. Whatever it is, I'll do it. I just - don't want to lose you."

She tries to swallow at the lump in her throat. "You already have," she says in a cracked voice, and despite herself Felicity reaches out, touches his wrist. "Oliver, please."

"Don't do this," he pleads, and he takes her hand, thumb brushing over the throbbing vein of her wrist. "I love you. I love you more than anything."

And they're close now, close enough for Felicity to feel his warm breath on her nose and see the twitching muscle in his jaw. She can't stop herself lifting her hand to his cheek, palm meeting the oh so familiar prickle of stubble. God, she's missed him.

And then she can't help but kiss him; it's become almost a reflex, for her, and he kisses her back, lips snatching at hers with a wild kind of desperation, like a drowning man clinging to his only lifeline. And it takes every ounce of her willpower to pull away, to _not_ caress his jaw and pull at his shirt to bring him closer to her. But even so she rest her forehead against his, breathing heavily, as though steeling herself.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be," says Oliver and his voice comes out low, gravelly. Tentatively his arms go around her waist, and she can't for the life of her bring herself to tug him away - not when it feels so _good_ to be back in his arms.

Where she belongs.

And as if of their own accord her hands go up to frame his face once more, and she kisses him despite herself, undoing the buttons of his shirt. She's surprised, therefore, when seconds after she has his shirt open he pulls away.

"Turn around," he whispers, and she does so, realising a split second later that he's undoing the fastenings of her dress. And then she gasps as she feels the gentlest of kisses on her bare shoulder, on the scar where she was shot by Tockman on her shoulder blade, and then down. He pulls down her dress, and it slips off, revealing white cotton panties and no bra. He kisses down her back, only stopping when his lips meet the barrier of her panties.

Felicity whimpers as his hand goes up between her legs to touch her through her underwear, dampened with arousal.

She turns around, then, and he's still on his knees, gazing up at her in such adoration that for a moment Felicity's breath gets caught in her throat. Almost naked she stands in front of him, waiting, but she realises he's waiting for _her,_ for her to pull down her panties. Closing her eyes she tugs them down, letting them drop to her ankles, and Oliver groans, presumably at her scent.

Immediately he comes closer, nudging his nose against her centre, breathing her in, and he takes his time, as though savouring her taste. The rasp of his stubble against the sensitive skin of her thigh burns, but truthfully Felicity wouldn't have it any other way. When his tongue darts out Felicity moans needingly at the molten trail his mouth leaves in its wake, and she takes a step backwards so she's leaning against the dressing table now. Oliver goes slow, lapping up her essence as it pools onto his tongue. She's dripping wet for him, and she throws her head back when his tongue encircles her clitoris.

And he knows how to tease her, what her weak spots are, how long she'll last, what will happen when he lets his teeth scrape against her clitoris. Soon Felicity's toes are curling and her walls are tensing and her hips are arching against him and she's crying out, and still he bears the way she thrusts against his mouth, not stopping until she reaches her climax and her hips finally begin to still.

Slowly Oliver gets to his feet, and Felicity pulls him towards her, groaning softly when she feels how hard he is for her. He groans too, at her touch, and he helps tug down his pants, taking his underwear with them. His cock springs free and Felicity closes her eyes, revelling in the feeling of him in her hand. She runs her hand down his length, squeezing, and he groans louder at that.

When he slides inside her it's slow, as if he's savouring every millisecond, his eyes scrunched shut until at last he's filling her so completely that it's impossible to tell where he ends and she begins. It feels so _good_ , even with the hardness of the dressing table pressing coldly against the backs of her thighs, and he thrusts into her, his hips slamming into hers, just as his lips meet hers in a crushing kiss.

Felicity climaxes a second time, moments before Oliver comes inside her with a final gasp.

"I love you," he mutters. "I love you."

 _I do too,_ she wants to murmur back. But before she can say anything there's a knock on the door and Thea's voice comes ringing through, loud and clear. "Felicity? Are you ready to go to court?"

Immediately Oliver withdraws, and he closes his eyes in what seems to be exasperation, the back of his hand going up to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

"Uh, no, I'll just be another minute!' Felicity calls back, immediately grabbing her bra from the pile of clothes on the chair and putting it on. "Just having trouble with this dress."

"You sure you don't want my help?

"No, it's fine," Felicity says. Next to her Oliver is already silently doing up his shirt and pants, a dazed kind of expression on his face. She turns to him, while pulling back on her now damp underwear. "We should… uh, probably talk about this," she says quietly.

Her heart sinks as his eyes light up at her words. "After the hearing?"

"No, tomorrow," she says. "I… need some time to think."

Oliver nods, and she hates herself for the hopeful look he's got on his face and the fact that just after she's touched his heart she's going to shatter it into a million pieces.


End file.
